


not really what we signed up for

by IAmNotLost



Series: The Domesticity Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Humor, M/M, i'm not sure what i'm doing here, it's just a thing, sort of a little bit of crack?, stiles and allison are bros, who have a serious rivalry going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotLost/pseuds/IAmNotLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was all Allison's fault. Perfect, warrior princess Allison.</p>
<p>Stiles blames her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not really what we signed up for

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Um, this is rated teen and up, but there's a really short, not _too_ descriptive scene at the end, that is sort of mature. But it's not much, so I was sort of at a loss of what to do?   
>  /panics
> 
> if you think I should change the rating, please let me know!
> 
> Also this was because last nights episodes made my heart bleed so I wrote some fluff.   
> Tried to write fluff.  
> I don't knoW

"Is it supposed to be that color?"

"You’re the one holding the recipe."

"The recipe, _Derek,_ is only giving me directions. Not colors.”

"Then I guess it’s fine."

This isn’t working. _None of this is working._ It’s 4 in the morning on a Monday (technically Tuesday, but Stiles doesn’t like to involve the next day if he hasn’t gone to bed yet) and Stiles finds himself trying to bake a loaf of bread.

It had been a good idea, originally. Some homemade bread for their date night at home, because they were going authentic. 

Derek was going to make the pasta and sauce, Stiles could work on the meatballs. (There’s a fabulous joke in there, and Stiles cracks it out every time they have spaghetti.)

And then, _oh,_ of course. Perfect Allison and her perfect relationship with Scott and her perfect cooking skills, because she was a badass with an arrow and she was a badass with oven mitts. Perfect. _Perfect._ Stiles could only dream of achieving such a level. 

So, yeah. Allison had to suggest a recipe for warm, soft, homemade bread, _thought up herself,_ and how was Stiles supposed to turn that down? It was like rejecting a graceful princess, who was a warrior in the night.

Of course she wanted pictures. 

And then, their authentic date night dinner turned into really, really good sex on their kitchen table. It was worth it, really. Stiles had wanted to break in that table ever since the salesman told them it was extremely durable. And so, authentic dinner wasn’t a thing.

They ordered pizza to soothe their Italian cravings, and called it a night. 

It didn’t bid well for their bread plan, though. Ten minutes after beautiful, beautiful sex, Stiles’ phone lights up with a text from Allison. And she sounds so excited (as excited as one can sound via text, but Stiles knows) about the fact that he’s using her recipe, and she wants to see it, and—

and that’s how Stiles finds himself here. Trying to make bread. With Derek, because half of the whole sex thing was Derek’s fault.

"It takes two to tango." Stiles points out, using a mixer to try and…beat out the brown color, maybe?

"What are you talking about? We’re cooking." The look on Derek’s face is one that Stiles is painstakingly familiar with—the ‘I’m not sure if I actually want to know.’ His dad gives it to him a lot. Stiles is convinced Derek goes over when Stiles has classes and the Sheriff is off, and they bond. Stiles is _convinced._

"Never mind. Maybe we should have used bread flour?"

"We only had all purpose."

"I know, but Allison suggested bread flour. In brackets." 

"It’s too late—"

"Also, we were supposed to check the temperature of the water? Fuck, Derek, we’re doing this all wrong." Stiles groans, head dropping the rest in the crook of his elbow.

"Stop being so dramatic." Derek swats at Stiles’ butt until he moves over, plucking the recipe from Stiles’ fingers. "It’s bread."

"It’s _Allison._ And Scott. I don’t want to deal with disappointment and the looks of dejection. Do you?”

Derek grumbles, adding the melted butter and moving the mixer around. Yeah, that’s right. He doesn’t want to deal with that shit, either.

-

"That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life."

It’s now 6 am, and Stiles and Derek are staring at the…it’s not even bread, because it looks like something that was _supposed_ to be dough was brutally smashed with Mjolnir. The color’s all off, sort of a…nasty shade of brown/black, and if it could make noise, it’d probably sound like it was wheezing out a ‘hhhhhhhhh’ sort of thing. 

Mildly terrifying. Stiles swears he just saw it move.

"We can’t show this to Allison, Derek."

Derek simply raises a brow. “I’m not making anymore bread. We’re out of flour.”

That might have been where they went wrong—lack of ingredients, _proper_ ingredients, and they sort of had to substitute yeast with whatever they could find, and it just…it was sort of a mess.

"I _can’t_ show this to Allison! We have a thing going.”

"A thing."

“Yes, a thing! We’re like competitive housewives.”

Derek’s other eyebrow comes to join in their little dancing toward his hairline movement, and he just looks _amused,_ the fucker. Derek clearly doesn’t understand their competitive streak.

"Neither of you are married."

"You’re _missing_ the point, Derek.”

There’s a sigh that passes Derek’s lips, then, far heavier than it should be. He leans around Stiles to press a kiss to the side of his neck and grabs his car keys. 

"Let’s go buy some bread."

-

Date night ended up being a success, the second time around. Bread was an incentive, Allison was glad her recipe worked (and Stiles didn’t feel guilty, because this was _war._ And at the end of the day, Allison could do it and he couldn’t. But he’d practice. He would.) and dinner was, of course, all around great. 

They bought pastries for dessert, also freshly baked, and Stiles sucks filling off of Derek’s fingers until they’re both hard, pupils blown, Stiles’ mouth shiny and wet; Derek’s mouth _hungry._

The table gets put to use for a round two, and Stiles is bent over it, fingers desperately trying to find something that isn’t sleek wood to grab onto, biting down on his upper arm to keep from keening. They’re full and sated and, _fuck,_ Derek’s marking the back of Stiles’ neck with sloppy kisses and nips of teeth, and it’s so good, it’s _so good,_ he’s going to come, he’s—

and the table breaks.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, okay,   
> you can find me on tumblr  
> http://tinyfics.tumblr.com/  
> and I would really like to be friends  
> (/ω＼)


End file.
